His New Family
by Anna De La Fere
Summary: One of the many ways I wanted Athos to join the musketeers. Sorry, no D'artagnan in this one.


The day was warm and lovely with snow white clouds veiling the sun a little, sparing Parisian people from its naughty, ticklish rays. Some beautiful birds kept singing on trees, their voices mixing together as an echo of newly woken nature. People became aware of the world again. After being caged at home during a long, cruel winter, it was a bliss for Parisians to spread themselves around the streets of Paris and making them noisy as usual. Every spring meant a new start to them. After all, it was the only enjoyment for most of them.

* * *

Despite the doctor's strong prohibition, Aramis decided to leave his quarters and take a short look at Paris in its awakening state, dragging his horse along as no matter how much he wanted to stretch his legs, he was in no shape of walking such a long distance from home as he still wasn't fully recovered from the horrible winter cold and could break down into a series of rough coughs and wet sneezes at any moment.

His eyes grew busy drinking in the beauty of their surroundings in an instant as he urged Belle forward like a man released from a cell, escaping with his life. The nature always had a calming and slightly overwhelming effect on our dear marksman. He enjoyed every single noise it made, including the sound of fallen leaves being crushed under people's feet, or that croaked noise of a huge tree, groaning painfully under the hatchet, falling down like a fallen titan. He bled the same as each alive creature. He felt their pain, their happiness, their desperation and it made him extra sensitive, always worrying about things he couldn't change, putting himself below everything, risking his life for others… Even now if it weren't Porthos and Treville by his side during his recovery he would surely pay no heed to the doctor's instructions and let himself suffer or die at such young age.

* * *

As Aramis kept galloping forward, his eyes suddenly caught a silhouette coming out of one of the dirty taverns, swaying dangerously on his way, barely keeping a balance. Aramis stood still, waiting, feeling a spark of interest glinting in his chest. The silhouette turned out to be a young man, a few years older than Aramis himself, looking very miserable and tired. The stranger had his head down, a hat tipped over his eyes so low that it left Aramis wondering how he was able to see the road properly. He barely had time to turn his gaze away as the stranger lifted his chin up to reveal bleary, yet beautiful blue-green eyes, squinting against the warmth of the sun rays, mouth curled into a tight grimace, messy long hair, beard and moustache completely untrimmed, clothes dirty, ripped and probably smelly, yet Aramis could tell from his style of walking and stoic expression that he was not a simple beggar or a son of a poor family. He had something great in him, his eyes bore a whole new, untouched and undiscovered world within them. His hands remained still at his sides, instead of shaking, his whole figure stretched properly, head high, expression stoic and deadly, showing no interest of anything, eyes watchful and mysterious with no sparkle of life in them despite their beauty. Aramis let his eyes linger on the man for a bit longer than necessary, unable to hide his interest. He had met many kinds of people before, but had never seen anyone so different. It was clear, the man didn't care about whether he was alive or dead, otherwise how could he explain what he was seeing?

Just as Aramis' eyes fulfilled their thirst for the stranger and he decided to go back home, he noticed a short, fat and bald man running out of the tavern, holding a purse of coins in his hand. The marksman went a bit closer and watched with a great curiosity as the fat man went to the young one.

"You paid me these coins, didn't you?" – The short man's husky, threating voice filled the marksman's ears.

"Yes, so?" – The younger one replied, looking emotionlessly at the small purse extended in front of him. Aramis' jaw nearly hit the ground from sudden surprise. How could a man like him have such a sweet, rich, melodious voice? It was almost impossible to believe.

"So? You think you can fool me?! These coins are fake!" – The angry man growled and was about to hit the younger one without giving a chance to reply, when the other man blocked his large hand and punched him in the stomach pretty hard, letting him embrace the ground with a thud. Before the short man could pull himself together he felt a shadow standing above him. The younger one had drawn his sword out, pointing it at his throat, ready to slit anytime he wished. The victim gulped hard, feeling the coldness of the metal against his throbbing throat.

"I assure you, monsignor, the coins I payed weren't fake. You mistook me with someone else." – The younger one replied as calmly as before, with no emotion in his voice.

"I don't believe you, you were the last client of mine today". – The prone man said.

"Then I believe they were placed in your hands even before my arrival".

"How can I be sure you aren't lying?"

"I am going to pretend, I didn't hear that". – The younger man said in a low, dangerous tone, sending shivers through the older one's spine.

Aramis watched as the mysterious stranger stepped back a little and extended his hand to help the man to his feet. He accepted the hand and stood up, wiping his dusty hands on his pants. The stranger gave him one last glance and turned around, walking away. At that time Aramis noticed the fat man taking out a small pistol and aiming it at the stranger.

"Watch out!" – He yelled, running towards him. The young man turned his head towards him in confusion, before feeling a fierce pain in his back, eyes widening in confusion as he collapsed on the ground, a small groan escaping his lips.

Aramis was at his side in a moment, forgetting that the source of danger was still there, checking the wounded man's pulse, slapping his cheeks gently, trying to wake him up, but in vain.

"Hands up!" – He heard someone's voice behind him and turned his head to see the fat man pointing his gun at him.

"What do you want from me or him?" – Aramis asked as he obeyed him.

"Me? Money, of course, what else?" – He replied half madly.

"He paid you as much as you asked him to".

"Oh, come on, it wasn't enough. In fact, it's never enough. I want more and always more. It was clear he wasn't a beggar, so I used my chance."

"So those coins weren't fake at all?!" – Aramis half yelled, half asked, unable to believe it was actually possible to kill someone for a few coins.

"Of course not, this trick is dirty and bloody, but never fails to bring me more money and I love it for the same".

At those words, the marksman felt a sudden rush of anger spreading through his heart as he ran towards the man, before he had a chance to compose himself and sent him to the ground, adjusting himself on top of him and started strangling him with bare hands, watching with satisfaction as the man's eyes grew bloodshot. The attack was so sudden that the fat one accidently dropped his pistol from the fear that Aramis' eyes sent trough his whole organism.

"How does it feel, you bastard?!" – He asked, never letting go of his victim's throat. – "Do you enjoy killing innocent people that much?"

"More than you can imagine". – The choking man replied in husky voice, looking at Aramis cynically.

Aramis growled and increased the pressure of his hands, forcing his fingers to dug deeper into the pulsing flesh under them. The man let out one last barely audible noise and closed his eyes forever, finally loosening his hold on Aramis' strangling hands.

The marksman breathed heavily for a while, then he stood up, took his victim's money and started checking the wounded man again. Aramis sighed in relief as he found a light pulse and with a great difficulty managed to mount him on his horse, dragging him towards the Garrison.

* * *

Porthos and Treville were sitting on the stairs of the captain's office, talking about how to protect the king better and mostly waiting for Aramis. They gasped in surprise, when their best marksman arrived covered in blood, with an unconscious stranger mounted on his horse.

"What happened to you?" – The two asked him in unison.

"I am fine, but he is not so much". – Aramis replied pointing at the man.

"Who is he?" – Treville asked.

Aramis quickly explained them the situation, unable to hide his disgust for the fat man. Porthos and Treville soon shared it, glancing at the young man with pity.

Porthos took the injured man upstairs and laid him on the bed. Aramis and Treville joined him soon, bringing some alcohol, needles, strings water and clothes. After pulling out the bullet, Aramis got busy examining the wound, finding it quite deep, but not life threating. The young man drifted in and out of consciousness, screaming in pain every time he would feel needles biting his sensitive skin. Porthos busied himself with wiping sweat from the man's forehead all the while whispering comforting words in his ears.

"I am done". – Aramis declared, washing his hands in a small bowl. – "Now it's up to him".

"He seems strong, he will make it through". – Porthos said firmly, glancing at the man hopefully. – "Judging from your observation, he seems quite interesting. I can't wait to meet him."

"I said he is interesting, not friendly." – Aramis replied.

"I bet you can fix that within seconds". – Porthos chuckled, slapping his friend's shoulder gently.

The trio watched in horror as the young man thrashed restlessly under the covers, screaming, sweating, trying to run away from invisible sorrows, hands fisted into the sheets, heels digging deeply in the mattress, face growing red and sweaty from stress.

"What's bothering you, son?" – Treville whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. The man didn't even stir from his sleep.

* * *

Four days later, Aramis and Porthos were sitting in the room, where they held the injured man, playing cards.

"I won!" – Porthos declared happily.

"You cheated!" – Aramis protested.

Porthos was about to give a reply, when they heard a small groan from the bed. Aramis rushed to his patient's side and began tapping his cheeks lightly.

"Hey, friend, wake up."

As someone's quiet, comforting voice met his ears, the stranger opened his right eye first, glancing around wearily and finally allowing the left one to open up as well.

"Welcome back." – Aramis whispered, smiling slightly as the stranger blinked at him.

"Who are you?" – He managed to ask in creaky voice. Agonizingly thirsty.

"Porthos, bring him some water". – Aramis turned to his friend, who obeyed quickly.

The man was grateful and drank the full cup, quietly nodding his thanks and continued observing the duo in front of him. The first one apart from being very handsome, judging from his friendly smile, had to be quite cheerful, talkative, a bit annoying sometimes and light-hearted with a good sense of humor. The second one almost seemed to be about the size of a mountain. Dark skin, curly hair and a scar on the face. He could be a nice pirate.

"Easy, Mon Ami, you are amongst friends." – Aramis replied smoothly. – "I am Aramis and this is Porthos".

"I remember you… You…warned me… There…" – The man whispered.

"Yeah that was me, I am glad you remember cause if you didn't, it could be from a head injury which we really want to avoid."

The man nodded, unsure of how to respond.

"And who are you?" – Porthos asked.

"I am Athos". – He replied. – "And thank you for saving my life, although I don't think I was worth saving."

"Well you can't decide that, only god has that right." – Aramis chided softly.

"Religious" Athos thought.

"Thank you anyway. I imagine I had been a great burden to you."

"Oh, don't say that, an injured man can never be a burden". – Porthos replied.

At that time Treville opened the door and entered, smiling as he noticed their patient was finally awake.

"Ah, you are finally awake. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you". – Athos replied politely.

"What is your name, son?"

"Athos".

"I think it's a name of a mountain". – Treville replied pointedly, but noticing the way Athos grew uncomfortable at his statement, he felt slightly guilty.

"All right, Athos it is". – The captain replied wearily. – "I am Jean Treville, the captain of the musketeers".

Athos bowed his head a little.

"Aramis told me about you. I don't want to poke my nose in your life, but I think it's a shame that a man like you does nothing except drinking in dirty taverns. Is there anything you are good at?"

"I assume I am a fine swordsman".

"Then I believe I have a job for you. Have you ever considered becoming a musketeer?"

"No".

"Think about it then. Maybe one day you will become the best swordsman in France".

Athos snorted slightly, but said nothing.

"You need some rest, I will leave now. As for you two", - He turned towards Porthos and Treville. – "Help him in every possible way, never leave him alone, understood? Oh, and Aramis, take care of yourself as well. Porthos, you are in charge". – Porthos nodded and Treville left the room.

Athos watched them with curiosity, admiring their bond silently. He still didn't consider himself worth being alive, but perhaps Aramis was right. He had no right to decide that. Despite having no reason to breathe at all, maybe, just maybe becoming one of them was exactly what he needed to feel himself again and he would do his best to fit in.

* * *

 **A.N. I have written an alternative version of how D'artagnan joined the musketeers and now it was Athos' turn. If you want me to write about Aramis and porthos as well, please leave a review 3**


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